An expedition of six scientists—three Russians and three Englishmen—sets out across the harsh Kalahari Desert with the most worthy of intentions—that of accurately measuring one meridian and therefore calculating the true circumference of the Earth. As the very unimaginative title—Measuring a Meridian—suggests, Jules Verne is not really in his best form here, but he does have something to say nevertheless. They all get along just fine and progress well despite the difficulties of the terrain, until suddenly word arrives that the Crimean War has broken out, dividing them against each other. Some think their work takes precedence over petty political squabbles, others that national pride matters more than any silly measurements, still others don’t care.
But militarists have a way of imposing themselves, and they fight their own minor version of the war, until the ferocity of the environment, the savage natives and the bands of marauding baboons oblige them to call a truce and join forces again. And somehow, in the midst of all this, the job gets done. Captain Nemo’s anti-war ideas are carried here with great effect, and the stupidity of war was never more evident.
Once the time was set, the event moved inexorably toward its fruition. The boys gathered and picked their side, all shapes and sizes, and you tried to assess the best side to be on and the best people to be behind. Singlets and jumpers went on and off willy-nilly as boys trooped back and forth across no-man’s land as they re-assessed their possibilities of survival, wading through the long grass and the tumult of threats and curses hurling back and forth between the groups.
There was never any order to it, no one commanded the charge. Most often it fizzled, the build-up somehow losing its heat and we would troop back to class when the bell rang, and oddly it was always somewhat disappointing when the charge never came. But other times the emotions would boil over, and the charge would be on—once one side started, the other knew that offence was by far the best chance for survival. For at the back of the ranks, the senior boys, the veterans with nothing to prove, prowled to intercept run-aways and give them a far worse kicking that they might have received in the crunch.
